Well, I just got a bill from physical therapy– apparently, there was a visit that they billed to Medicare when I was stumbling along the path to get all that situated.
Just under $70. This after my father informed me last Wednesday night that my grandparents had dismissed the idea of a gym membership as a gift as too expensive and that we might as well forget about expecting such. (My grandparents are health freaks, in a sort of Spartan way.) I explained to him that I could perceive the strings that were attached to their gift of the gas cards each month, and that I generally did not DARE to inform my grandfather very much if he forgot about sending another one. I was told at one point– probably my mother– that he did not want to be perceived as a bank.
(I received a $100 check for my last birthday, and spent it as frugally as I could. Although my grandmother was chattering about wanting to give us kids money now when we could use it, not when they died, she IS growing senile, and I suspect there was dissent and disagreement between her and him concerning it.)
My father and I have a half-spoken agreement that we both have difficultly abiding the small spectacle my grandmother's senility is becoming– she was annoying enough when her mind was clear, and now it's getting much, much worse. It's like putting a guilt trip on an old vinyl record that skips and skips… no, it's not to the strangeness of how a CD skips yet, but it's pretty close. I asked how Mom was taking it, and my hunch was correct that she simply isn't, as he replied affirmatively to such.
I told Dad that we would probably invite my baby sister and her new husband here, and minimize the time spent at his house. I can tell he accepts and even shares that sentiment, but I can see the negotiator gears spinning in his head wishing we had a different, more seemingly diplomatic solution. I had already told him that I was growing weary of my grandmother's company, and that we were going to my in-laws for after-Christmas dinner this year.
I am a pretty hyperviligant person, and so, as some of you know, I still hate writing about it here because it looks bad, but… I just can't keep stuffing it down… those feelings come back like undead zombies later.